


Unknown Variables (or the one where Bob regrets getting bored)

by Ponderosa



Category: The Unit
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Fucking With the Newbie, Gay Chicken, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Infidelity, M/M, Mack is not quite the bicycle the tags imply, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Straight Guys Having Sex, Trash Talking, but 'orgy' doesn't quite fit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:31:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there is one thing the team excels at, it’s passing time, but when you’re going on a week in bumfuck nowhere with no newspapers, no television, and nothing but a shut up and sit tight coming over the radio, shit wears thin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unknown Variables (or the one where Bob regrets getting bored)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [autoschediastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/gifts).



> For Blue, who is the bestworst kind of enabler.
> 
> Implied homophobia in that playing gay chicken is inherently such. Also unbeta'd so please let me know if you catch any typos.

If there is one thing the team excels at, it’s passing time, but when you’re going on a week in bumfuck nowhere with no newspapers, no television, and nothing but a shut up and sit tight coming over the radio, shit wears thin. Bob’s already run through the usual time-wasters twice over today; his body simply refuses to sleep one more minute and if he does another round of push-ups he’s risking overexertion.

The moment he breaks out the pack of beat-up playing cards, Grey looks his way and says, “No.” Grey holds up his hands and shoves away from the table, wood on tile screeching like nails on a chalkboard. “No more fucking cards.”

Bob starts shuffling anyway while his spine settles itself back into place. “Why not?” Far from being a fresh deck, the cards stick; Hector had found them behind a dresser at the _pousada_ they’d been staying at before they were ordered down the river. Endless rounds of poker or spades are better than nothing when they’re stuck with their thumbs up their asses in this sorry attempt at four walls and a roof. “There’s nothing else to do.”

He glances pointedly to where Hector’s keeping busy by making geometric patterns on the floor with a bunch of twigs. Next to him, sitting in a pair of shitty plastic chairs, Jonas and Mack are like twin statues: the both of them kicked back with their arms folded and chins on their chests. Mack though cracks an eye open when Bob looks his way. Lazily, Mack tips his head towards Hector, kicking a foot out to nudge him when he doesn’t look up.

“There’s always chicken,” Mack says, catching Hector’s eye and giving him another nudge with the toe of his boot. “Newbie’s an unknown variable.”

“Chicken? Are you serious?” Bob raises an eyebrow. The last time he played chicken was in high school, where a group of them had caught detention for causing trouble in the pool unsupervised. “If you assholes want to go into the river where something is likely to bite your balls off, you can count me out."

Grey leans his chair onto its back legs, his arms settling comfortably behind his head. Using his tongue, he flips the soggy toothpick tucked in the corner of his mouth. His grin widens. “Not that kind of chicken, newbie. Besides, _lay low_ doesn’t cover splashing around in the mud.”

“So what are we talking then, exactly?” Bob knows whatever it is, by the looks on their faces--there’s even a slight turn upwards on Jonas’s mouth--he’s at the ass-end of yet another joke. It gets a little old, but day by day he fits a little tighter into the comfortable spaces they’ve built up with one another. At least he thinks so up until he licks his lips, and Mack goes toothy like a shark.

Grey spits his toothpick to the floor and lifts his chin up like a challenge. “First off, are you in or are you out?”

“I, uh—” There’s no right answer here and Bob finds zero sympathy on any of the guys’ faces. Just like every other time it’s been clear that he’s the low man on the totem pole, there’s really only one choice and that’s to roll with it. He sighs and tosses the cards into the center of the table and spreads his hands out. No matter what they care to dish out, he can take it. “Okay, whatever. I’m in. Anything to have something to do.”

Mack pushes out of his chair to come over and pick up the cards. He sorts through them quickly, gaze flicking up as he asks, “Are we putting money down, boys?”

“I thought we weren’t playing cards.”

Four jacks and the ace of spades stare up from the table. “We aren’t,” Mack says. He smacks the rest of the deck down and flips the five cards face down, mixing them up thoroughly. “Get ready to pick your poison, fellas. Top, you won last time, you’ve got first draw.”

Jonas flips a card: ace of spades. “Well guess you’ll have to do without the competition. Have fun, kids. You can all breathe a little easier.” He laughs and goes right back to his chair, tugging his hat low over his eyes.

“What are we drawing for?” Bob asks, as the rest of them reach for a card. He manages not to be the last to snag one up. “Teams?”

“Teams,” Hector confirms, and reveals the jack of clubs. “Hearts goes with spades, diamonds goes with clubs.”

Grey throws down the jack of spades and between a quick glance and elbow to the ribs, he and Hector have an entire conversation in the span of a second. Bob’s hackles are up even before Hector’s poker face slides into place and he taps a finger against his card, saying, “ Looks like it’s you against Mack.”

“Which one of you ugly fuckers is my dance partner?” Grey asks.

Bob’s mouth tugs to the side while a nervous little prickle low in his belly grows to match the hairs standing straight up on the back of his neck. “Okay, but—”

“Red means get ready. Black means jack,” Jonas says. “Box of Cubans and a six pack on you, Mack. Don’t let me down.” Hector and Grey ante up, and the sinking sensation in Bob’s stomach only gets worse. At least Grey had the faith to wager on him managing to--

“Seriously. What’s the game, guys?”

“Jerk Chicken.” Mack flicks his jack of hearts at Bob, followed by a shit-eating grin and an unmistakable hand gesture. He throws an arm around Bob’s shoulders and gives him a quick shake and a pat on the chest. “Like the man said, get ready. On your knees like you’ve got words for Jesus.“

Bob doesn’t even have time to blink before Mack’s knee catches his, and the hand on his shoulder drives him to the floor in the sloppiest, most embarrassing take-down he’s ever been caught by. Mack drops down right beside him, sitting back on his heels as Grey shoves the table out of the way.

“Rules are simple,” Hector says, his hands going to his belt, “if you’re on your knees you can call chicken any time you very well please, but if you’re on your feet it’s a race. No stopping ‘til you’re popping. It’s all on the two of you to avoid getting shot in the face.”

“Shot in the face,” Bob says, slowly, the words echoing around in his skull. His stomach bottoms out dramatically. “You don’t mean–”

“Oh, he means it.” Mack makes a bring it on gesture directly to Grey’s crotch. “Whip it out, partner, let’s get this party started.”

Bob leans back when both Hector and Grey start undoing their pants. That his stomach is still somewhere on the floor doesn’t stop it from flipping roughly a dozen times and then try to choke him. He’s pretty sure this is not happening. “I’m not—”

Mack interrupts him with a laugh and a keenly arched brow. “You said you were in. You call chicken before there’s a dick in front of your face, you owe us the pot and a blowjob for the letdown.” This time Mack’s hand gesture is joined by his tongue probing his cheek. “Suck it up or suck it down. Your call.”

With a click, Bob’s mouth snaps shut and he gives the guys one last measuring look before straightening his spine. If they’re really going to play this stupid fucking game, well fuck it all, he’s in it to win it. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The minute Hector’s pulling himself out of his boxers though, Bob’s slammed with indecision and his naked ring finger starts to itch. This isn’t exactly taking one for the team in the line of duty. Then again, he argues with himself, it’s not technically taking one for the team at all. It’s not like anyone’s touching anyone else; it’s no worse than a circle jerk or ordering cheap titty porn in a hotel. He glances over at Mack, who gives him a wink before licking his mouth wet and looking up at Grey with a distinctly lewd expression. Okay, so maybe it’s a bit worse.

Mack rubs his hands together before setting them on his thighs. Ignoring the glossy shine of his lips, he looks more like he’s getting ready for a round of darts than waiting for an eyeful of another guy’s dick. He’s less than a foot away from Grey’s crotch as he says: “C’mon Charlie, show me what you got.”

“I’d show it to you right on your pretty pink tongue,” Grey says, as he shoves his boxers down under his balls and tugs his dick hard. “But you know Williams is gonna blow his load first. He's always hard up for it.”

“Fuck you,” Hector says. He’s mostly hard already, and Bob finds it really difficult not to stare at the spit-wet fist moving right in front of his face. “You’re the one who can’t keep a girl ‘cause you finish too fast.”

“Kept your mama long enough she forgot your daddy’s name.”

Bob can’t muster more than a weak chuckle to match the guys’ ripples of laughter. Just how long _would_ it take for either of them to pop off? And he’s seen the way Mack plays a game of cards, but would he actually risk a shot in the face just to win a couple boxes of cigars, Cuban or otherwise? Bob’s palms start sweating, and he considers the situation with the very, very limited intel he’s got.

“Pretty sure I already know who’s going to jizz first,” he says, glancing between the each of them. He’s a quick learner--wouldn’t be in the Unit if he wasn’t--and well, this kind of chicken is always half guts and half about the mind-fuck. He grins, plays like he isn’t hyper-aware that a stiff wind would land him face-first on his teammate’s remarkably thick cock. “I mean, how’s Grey going to resist that mouth, huh? Mack’s already got it all wet for him.”

Grey doesn’t miss a stroke even as he laughs into his other fist. “Oh, shit! It’s on now, newbie.”

“Kid doesn’t believe I’d get nutted on just to win, does he?” Mack inches forward, coming dangerously close to actually having his mouth touch the slick tip of Grey’s cock. That close, there was no way that Grey couldn’t feel Mack’s breath on him.

A rush of blood into his own dick awkwardly catches Bob off guard; if he’d been the one to draw spades, he’d be the one feeling the warm rush of Mack’s exhale. A shock of sensation rockets along his spine. He’d been pretty damn sure that Mack wouldn’t take a faceful of come for anything, but now, with his mouth open and waiting and practically begging Grey to cram it full, Bob is having a lot of second thoughts. He’s second-guessing a lot of things right now, because he’d give just about anything to see that happen. He turns away from staring at Mack and Grey to look up at Hector, and it’s like a kick in the balls to realise Hector’s giving his mouth the same sort of focus.

“I’m just pointing out this whole thing was Mack’s suggestion and maybe winning is not his endgame,” Bob says, hoping his voice sounds a lot more stable than it feels. He flings an arm out to strike Mack in the shoulder. “Go on, man, just suck it if you want it.”

“Big words coming from a kid who doesn’t have the stones to wait up close and personal. You might as well just give up now--you’re bent so far you might as well be on your back.” Mack looks at him sidelong. Even in this light his eyes are startlingly blue. “Or is on your back how you like it?”

Bob runs a hand over his mouth and swallows hard. What in the ever-loving fuck had he gotten himself into? For a quick flash of a moment he can’t help but consider what it’d be like to just go for it and suck Hector into his mouth, savor the feel of having a cock on his tongue instead of the quick suck and spit that’d been his only time on the giving end of a blow.

When Mack opens his mouth wide and lets his tongue loll out fearlessly, Bob’s eyes narrow. He shouldn’t rise to the bait, but he can’t help it. “What I like is winning,” he says, and reaches over the back of his head to tug his shirt up and off. He throws it at Mack before he runs his own tongue over his lip and inches as close to Hector as he dares. “But if you’re insinuating that the only way you know how to fuck is missionary, how about I educate you and enjoy myself on my back while you sit on my dick.”

"Damn, newbie,” Hector says, and whistles. His fist drags down the shaft of his cock and the head flares with a fresh rush of blood that’s echoed in the increasingly tight confines of Bob’s own pants. Bob’s fingers claw into his thighs, and he hopes that with all the talk, no one’s noticed that he’s sporting a chubby. Hector’s grip slides slowly back up the shaft, squeezing a drop of precome from the tip.

Bob catches Mack’s smirk from the corner of his eye, and the competitiveness that’s been building spikes, a hot surge rushing into his bloodstream along with the adrenaline already coursing there. A small voice inside his head that sounds an awful lot like his wife says the opposite of what it should and eggs him on; _Baby, you can fucking win this, I know you can,_ echoes in the too-quiet space of his mind. “Still looking a little dry there, Williams, I can help with that,” Bob says, and feels all eyes on him as he goes up a little higher on his knees.

“I bet. You look hungry for it.” Hector gives his cock a little shake before he goes back to beating it. “You can give it a kiss if you really want."

Bob flicks a challenging look at Mack, mouth getting so damn close to Hector’s cock he can almost taste it. When he opens his jaw wide he’s pretty sure no one in the room breathes, and it’s fucking risky because he wouldn’t put it past Mack to give him a slap on the back. Still, he holds position, wetness gathering on his tongue, and he gives Hector a wink and blows him a kiss in the moment before spitting straight on his dick.

The sudden intense quiet is broken only by the obscenely wet sound of Hector’s fist until Jonas says, “Mack, c’mon, you gonna let the kid show you up like that?"

“Yeah, Mack,” Bob says, and this time he hopes Mack catches the razor-sharp edges of _his_ grin. “You talk big saying you’ll take a faceful of jizz, but would you get your face fucked to do it? You’re prettier than some the girls Grey goes home with.”

Mack chokes on a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Fuck you all.”

Hector widens his stance, and his teeth catch briefly on his lip as he works his grip at the head of his dick. His breath turns rough, each inhale a fraction quicker than the last. “Go on, Mack, juggle Grey’s balls a little. He might as well get a little fun out of it before I put some frosting on the newbie.”

“Told you he always pops first,” Mack says, and with the tight hard jerks Hector’s got going, Bob’s pretty damn convinced it won’t take long. He finds himself leaning back instinctively--posture curling in on itself only to snap upright again when Mack spits loudly into his own hand. Mack narrows his eyes as his fingers curl into the mess and he says, “But I am not about to lose,” like a stone-cold threat before he just fists Grey’s cock and takes over.

Bob rocks onto his heels, his eyes going wide and a howl stuck in his throat. He didn’t expect Mack to go full contact, and apparently no one else did either. Hector’s pace falters briefly as he cries out, “Shit, son!” and brofists Grey who’s already going a little cross-eyed at the way Mack’s working him.

When Hector gets a considering look on his face, Bob shakes his head firmly. “Oh, hell no. I’m not jerking you off unless you take me to dinner first.”

“Calling chicken, newbie?” Mack asks, and doesn’t seem to care in the least that Grey’s got a hand on his head. His hand pumps furiously, mess of spit gleaming on his fingers and his mouth still so close--so fucking fearlessly close. "You're leaning out of the line of fire."

Bob tears his eyes away, conscious again of Hector’s clipped breaths and the shift in his stance, hips jutting forward just slightly. Bob goes onto the balls of his feet, his call of “Chicken--!” cutting into the sound Grey makes and the hasty scuffle of Mack’s attempt to dodge the comeshot he signed himself up for.

“Oh, shit-- _Shit!_ ” Mack’s laughing as he stumbles onto his feet, scrubbing at his cheek and wiping off the come slicking the stubble lining his jaw. He swings a finger like a compass needle toward Bob even as he keeps trying to clean his face off on his arm. “Chicken. You called it.”

Dusting his hands on his thighs as he stands, Bob aims a finger right back. “You stood up first!”

“I’ve got spunk on my face, I think I win no matter what.”

“Might want to rephrase that,” Jonas remarks wryly.

“If you want some more on there, you can finish me off,” Hector says. He glances pointedly at Bob and the unmistakable outline of his cock trapped against his thigh. “Bob looks like he could use a little help too.”

“Yeah, Mack, spread some of that magic around. Best handie I’ve had in a long time.” Grey snickers as he puts his cock away. He perches his ass on the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest to watch how things play out. It’s not like Bob’s never had his shirt off or a hardon in the same room with these assholes, but his guts still squirm a little when Grey’s gaze slides down his bare chest and then some--appraising, _evaluating_.

“All right. What the hell. My hand already smells like cock,” Mack says, lazy like he doesn’t care. Lazy like he means it. “But one of you horny fuckers better return the favor.” He hooks a hand into the front of Bob’s jeans to tug him closer and the hot stain of a blush flashes up Bob’s neck like wildfire.

“You win,” Bob says. The heat of his blush is clawing its way into his spine. “I concede the point.”

“Well, gentlemen, you heard it. Settle up amongst yourselves when we get home. I fully expect a cut of the winnings.” Mack hasn’t let go of the front of his pants though, and Bob can’t hide the shiver that wracks his body when Mack leans in and puts his mouth near Bob’s ear. “Offer stands, kid, only now it’s a consolation prize.”

“Fuck, I--” Bob’s frozen in place, his feet glued to the stained tile floor, and it’s yet another shock to his system when Hector steps in right beside him and he feels it-- He feels through Mack’s shoulder pressed to his when Mack gets a hand on Hector and just goes to town, jacks him like it’s nothing at all, no skin off his back. The little voice in Bob’s head is still saying all the wrong things: _I don’t want to know. I don’t need to. As long as you come home to me._ He swears as he pops the buttons on his jeans, and again when Mack just crams a hand down into his boxers to find his cock and haul it out. He’s fucking inventing curses in the span of time it takes for Mack to pull his hand away, lick it wet with one wide swipe of tongue, and grip him again, tight and wet and lighting up every nerve like it’s been months and not just a week since he’s been laid.

Hector was already primed, so it’s no surprise when he drops a hand on Mack’s shoulder, fingers digging in as Mack wrings the orgasm right out of him. The rush of it hits Bob though, like his body’s wired on the same charge, and it’s hardly a dozen strokes before he’s leaning his weight against Mack, shuddering when Mack’s quiet, “That’s it, kid, almost there,” grinds into his skin like sandpaper.

Bob tries to say something, to make a sound, anything, but even though his mouth is open there’s nothing. Nothing except the slick tunnel of Mack’s fist and the spots eating the edges of his vision. He’s biting the inside of his cheek when he loses it, blood roaring in his ears and the ragged gasp of his breath the only sound in the room.

After, when Mack’s wiping his hands on Bob’s discarded shirt like it’s a rag and not the last semi-clean piece of clothing he has in his duffel, and when his voice seems willing to cooperate again, Bob does up his fly and motions awkwardly at Mack. “So, I guess-- I mean, I can--”

“Don’t sweat it, junior,” Jonas says. Up on his feet, he drops his hat into the empty chair like a placeholder. “Mack, you want to join me in the other room?”

“Bit of privacy, huh, top?”

“Seems prudent.”

“Didn’t even play the game and the man still hates losing,” Mack remarks, and tosses Bob’s shirt back at him without even looking.

Hector and Grey immediately turn into the peanut gallery again, and Bob stares at the four square and a door where the shitter is. He tries not to dwell on the notion that Jonas had been the one to win last time, and when the door slams shut, he tries extra hard not to listen. The last thing he needs to do is wonder whether or not they’re actually getting up to something in there or just fucking with him on a whole new level.

He clears his throat and looks pointedly at the table. “So, cards now?”

“With three people?” Grey picks up the deck and claims his chair again. This time, he shuffles, and none of them acknowledge the weight of a body slamming against the bathroom door.

“Bullshit?” Bob suggests.

“Bullshit,” they all agree.


End file.
